


The Taking Tree

by MightMakesWrite



Category: The Giving Tree - Shel Silverstein
Genre: AU, Baseball, Dark Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MightMakesWrite/pseuds/MightMakesWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tree shares a new game with the boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taking Tree

This. Now this was something truly new. Sure, the tree had felt the cool touch of the wind before, nearly every day of its life but tonight was different. It wasn’t just one of those everyday soft, refreshing iterations of that friendly breeze. In fact, this time it didn’t seem to be a breeze at all, but there was definitely wind. It took her quite a while to ascertain exactly why this was the case, but soon enough she had it. Movement. Yes, that was it! Movement! Why had it not occurred to her until now? This bothered her. Yes, the tree should have taken into account how the man’s hands were now wrapped tightly around her smaller end, and how the man raised her up, up in the air, and how she sort of wiggled about. She should have noticed all these things sooner but nevertheless, she had it now, and that was what mattered.

This was unignorably an all-around foreign experience for the tree. Her mind could scarce fathom such a thing until she found herself wrapped up in it. She was used to quieter evenings. She would solemnly stand by the stream, waiting for morning - waiting to see her friend, whom she did presently see, but this time there were others. The tree could not say how many others there were, after all trees cannot count, but the tree could undoubtedly feel the presence of others. There was tension in the air, too. The tree felt it.

Now there was noise. A great many new sounds that the tree did not recognize, the vibrations of which rippled through her newly slender frame. The vibrations didn’t have that far to go, which was strange for the tree. Usually, she felt much longer than the thirty-three inches of space she now took up. This, though, did not worry the tree. Nothing could worry her; the tree had her man, and the man had his tree. Such close contact with the man caused a rush of memories to come flooding back to the tree, like those warm summer days, when the man, as a boy, would sit beneath her branches enjoying her shade and her apples, but as the noises grew louder and shook the tree more violently, she collected herself. Steady. Steady, she thought.

Suddenly, she was moving again. For all she knew, this wild ride was all there was in the world. Time had very much slowed down for the tree. She was focused solely on the sensation of the air flowing over and around her new, smoother body. She felt the bigger, heavier of her two ends sort of whipping around the other, smaller, knobby end. It was as if her small end were anchored in place by the man’s hands. She felt it all. She thought very briefly that this would be her new life, that this wonderful sensation would last forever, a kind of game that would continue in perpetuity, just like times when the man, who was only a boy then, would swing on her branches with such glee. This is their new game, the tree thought. This will go on forever, and never end. She thought all these things because she had yet to notice the other object towards which she was presently hurtling, but suddenly, there it was.

The object itself wasn’t much. It wasn’t very big. It wasn’t very small. It was, however, round. Round and pale. That was all the tree could have said about it. Years before, the man had told her about these objects. Bessbolls? She couldn’t quite remember exactly what they were called, and besides, she still hadn’t really had time to examine the situation thoroughly enough to say anything other than it was medium sized, round, and pale and was getting closer and closer and was now so close that it was obvious they would…

CRACK!

The sound echoed for what the tree would have estimated to be miles around. There had been an impact, the tree surmised, and she had been party to it. It was an impact with the other object, which the tree now observed was quite hard. Yes! This was certainly bessboll! The tree had very little time to celebrate the man’s new bessboll success before she was moving again.

In his excitement, the man cried out.

“Where is it, you fucking cunt? Where the fuck is it?”

The tree now found herself barreling down again towards the object, only this time it was on the ground. She obviously still had a lot to learn about bessboll, but what she knew so far was that she liked it, and the man seemed to like it. That is what mattered.

THWACK! The object itself was now making muffled gurgly noises. The tree felt unsurpassed joy.

“I asked you a god dammed question, bitch! What the fuck did you do with my money?”

The tree had never known the man to behave this way before. The man tightened his grip on the tree’s smaller end, and raised her high again and again, and back down with great force again and again, shouting each syllable in time with every swing. They were obviously winning.

“FUCK-”

CLACK!

“-ING”

KATACK! The object itself was no longer making muffled gurgly noises, or any noise at all for that matter. It lay perfectly, peacefully still.

“THIEF.”

SPLACK!

The tree noticed that the medium sized, hard, round, pale object was changing. It was a little bigger than before, the tree observed - more spread out. The object wasn’t as hard as it used to be, either. It was getting softer and softer with each swing. And it definitely was getting less and less round. But what intrigued the tree most was the object’s change in color. With each new collision, the object, the air around it, the ground, and the tree itself were growing all the more red! What a wonderful, beautiful game this bessboll, thought the tree. She had always wanted a new color, and had forever fancied a more permanent kind of red that would outlast every year’s ritual transition through the spectrum to brown. She hated brown.

The man now appeared to grow tired. Turning, he loosened his grip on the tree’s small end, and she fell with a clunk. She could feel the man’s feet stay in the same spot for a great deal of time, which confused her. She was under the impression that there was running involved in bessboll, but the man knew what he was doing, and she trusted him. Now the tree felt a warm sensation, and realized that it was laying in a stream of red liquid. The tree was overcome with joy at her new color. If she had known before that this was the prize for winning at bessboll, she would have tried to join the man in it sooner.

After a while, the tree noticed the man turn and leave. The tree laid calmly next to the object that used to be medium sized, pale, hard, and round, soaking up all the liquid that she could. She wished for a moment that she could soak up that moment itself, and be stained with the charged atmosphere that had left her so gratified. But her new crimson stains would suffice, the tree thought, pleased. She could not wait to join the man in their new game again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to randomeliza for the beta edits.


End file.
